1527
5.66
6.iii.24
quick fix
many things fix
themselves
a colour
this sky just breath
nitrogen, soil
an eye on you
my own
we sleep further
take to our years
the broken child
the horse
the chair
one way, another
weather wears away
bad luck comes to an
end
one lies in an ache
to wonder
with / without the manual
the sun in its spots
another face
many things come
good
turn off and on
again
give it a bash
it might go
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